


Lissome

by notjustmom



Series: Words, Words, Words [42]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Johnlock Fluff, M/M, long after Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 04:41:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5320847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>lissome: adjective: lisəm: thin, supple, and graceful</p><p>late 18th century: contraction, from lithe + -some<br/>Old English līthe ‘gentle, meek,’ also ‘mellow,’ of Germanic origin; related to German lind ‘soft, gentle.’</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lissome

There were rare mornings when John caught his flatmate sleeping. He would sit in his chair, and simply watch his lissome lover at rest. Usually elegant when awake, asleep, he was anything but. Sprawled haphazardly over the couch, his graceful fingers dangling, tangled mop of curls covering one eye, tattered blue robe barely covering his shoulders; John would sigh and retrieve a blanket from their room. He seemed fragile while he slept, and John was still a bit chuffed that he alone was entrusted to watch over him. 

"Hmmmmm? John?"

"I'm here-"

Sherlock would rub his face, brush the errant curls out of his eyes and stretch, then ask quietly, "why are you all the way over there?"

It had become a game between them. John would answer by getting up from his chair, walk over to the couch and kneel in front of his detective. He would trace his lover's remarkable lips with one finger, before kissing him gently; first the tip of his nose, then his left cheek, right cheek and chin, then finally placing one sweet kiss on his mouth.

"Tea?"  
"Mmmmm, please?"

John would head to the kitchen, turn on the kettle, take two mugs down, and feel Sherlock behind him, his heartbeat against his back, arms wrapped around his chest, palms feeling for John's rhythm. They would stand locked together simply breathing together while the kettle screamed. John would turn in his love's lithe arms and look up into those eyes that had seen way too much in his life. Sherlock would always close them, and pull John tightly against him, rest his chin on the top of his blogger's head and breathe deeply.

"Hmmmmmm."

John would reach under Sherlock's robe and feel for the old scars, now well mapped, known, and loved; then work downwards to his hips and pull them even closer together. No words were needed, John's head rested against Sherlock's shoulder, and they slowly danced to music that only they could hear.


End file.
